


Blakefield Kisstober: Day 27- Mental Health Day/No Kiss

by fromthebeginningthen



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Autistic William Schofield, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Genderbending, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthebeginningthen/pseuds/fromthebeginningthen
Summary: Willow has a shutdown and Blake is a wonderful girlfriend.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Blakefield Kisstober 2020





	Blakefield Kisstober: Day 27- Mental Health Day/No Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Jamie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass/works?fandom_id=38280694) for beta-ing this fic!
> 
> This work is dedicated once again to [Wally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milothatches/pseuds/Milothatches/works?fandom_id=38280694), [Pavel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/svladcjelli/pseuds/svladcjelli/works?fandom_id=38280694), [Maddie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillMachineBroke/pseuds/ChillMachineBroke/works?fandom_id=38280694), and all other autistic folks in the 1917 fandom!
> 
> In this wlw version of Blakefield, their names are Willow Schofield and Blake Thomas!
> 
> Tw: descriptions of sensory overload, dissociation, and autistic shutdowns (I'm so sorry to Willow but this prompt didn't lend to the happiest time)

Willow wasn’t always aware of mounting stress within herself. It was difficult to recognize the changes in physiology and emotions for what they were, as if it was the first time she was becoming overwhelmed and overstimulated all over again. It was frustrating too, because if she had to write a list of all the symptoms of stress, it would be a complete and expansive list. But, this did not change her level of awareness in the moment.

Blake had a much easier time recognizing it in Willow, and letting her know. It was helpful and Willow appreciated her for it, but she still felt stupid for being so unaware. She prided herself on logic, and this was not logical.

Willow woke up Friday morning following a long first week back to school. Her students in the first week were always the most difficult to handle because they weren’t used to the new routine as much as she herself wasn’t. She tried to keep her classes easy in the first week, for both parties, but it still caused a lot of unavoidable stress.

The university had also moved her to a different room, one that was renovated in between terms. The smell of paint and new carpeting was likely faded for most people, but it still lingered for Willow’s senses. It was vastly different for her from the room she was used to for the last year and a half, but there was nothing she could do about it.

There was also a new lecturer in the department that loved to talk. Whenever Willow was trying to eat lunch or go over her notes in the communal area, this professor would start a conversation with her or others who were also in the room. This turned any typical quiet conversation into something louder and filled with sharp laughter that made Willow’s ears pop. She wasn’t able to finish eating and she certainly wasn’t able to concentrate during that.

The professor didn’t seem to pick up on Willow’s refrain from conversation. She would give the occasional one word answer to direct questions, but offer nothing else in return. It was too much effort to truly engage, she could feel her words locked in her throat but she didn’t have her own office yet to retreat to for peace.

She was increasingly exhausted throughout the week, even losing her appetite and staying up later than usual to go over her lecture notes again and again, second guessing the topics and assignments.

After a good half hour of being late to bed, Blake would come into the kitchen and take Willow’s hand, dragging her away from the table and to their bedroom. This was enough to get her to finally go to bed, because it was hard to resist the call of a warm body and thick blanket cocooning them both. They lowered the thermostat at night for optimum comfort in that position.

But this did not fix the problem. So on Friday, Willow went to work and gave her lectures and failed to eat her lunch. In her last lecture of the day, the fire alarm went off. There was a scheduled drill she forgot about because the email was sent to staff on Monday and she’d been struggling to focus all week. The alarm was loud and piercing, as if it were a shrill sound even though it wasn’t. Willow just perceived it as such. She dug her blunt nails into her arms to keep from covering her ears and directed her students out of the building.

The flashing light from the alarms mounted on the walls was disorienting and Willow couldn’t remember the path she was supposed to direct her students. Luckily, there was a flow of classes leaving the building, so she just followed them.

Outside, everyone was congregated in a large crowd a bit away from the exits. The students’ voices were louder to talk over each other and reflected their excitement at having this time taken away from class. 

Willow shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she continued pinching the skin of her upper arms through her shirt. At least there wasn’t any risk of breaking the skin, since she always kept her nails so short. But the pain was somewhat grounding and she tried to focus on that instead of the anxiety building in her chest. 

Each time someone brushed past her, their touch lingered and made her skin itch. Her instinct was to bang a fist against whatever parts of her body were crawling with this unexplainable feeling, but she didn’t. She hadn’t done that since she was younger, and she didn’t want to start now. Especially not in front of her colleagues and students. What would they say? What would they think?

After what felt like an eternity, the students were cleared to go back in the building. In the classroom, Willow forced out a dismissal, citing that she felt it would be pointless to teach for only twenty minutes. 

She clumsily packed her bag, not focused or caring enough to worry about how she’d have to reorganize it later, and made her way out of the building to go home. She could feel herself starting to dissociate. Her anxiety faded away as numbness took over and she felt herself retreating from the world. Metaphorically so, but it felt like she was turned on autopilot.

She wasn’t controlling her movements but she was. She was a passenger to her body but she wasn’t. It was not an easy feeling to describe, but it was preferable to the more violent stress of before. Even that one new professor didn’t bother her as she left the building. She heard distantly this professor try to speak to her, but she ignored it and continued on her journey out.

The time passed quickly while she waited at the bus stop, and the floaty feeling stayed with her during the ride. The smells that would normally bother her on the bus weren’t registered at the level they usually were. Less intense as she stared unfocused out the window.

Willow nearly missed her stop, but the driver knew her as a regular and stopped even though Willow hadn’t pulled the yellow cord. She was dragged into enough awareness to get off when the driver, Mrs. Charlotte, tapped her shoulder.

She was grateful, but couldn’t thank Mrs. Charlotte out loud. She nodded and hoped the driver understood what it meant.

Willow walked the remaining blocks and then finally up the stairs to her shared flat with Blake. Once inside, she shut the door and rested against it before letting herself slide to the floor and close her eyes. She breathed in deep, taking in the familiar safe smells of the flat. Blake must have baked today, as fresh bread was the dominant smell. It was comforting, warm.

Blake walked into the kitchen, brows furrowed in concern. Willow hadn’t answered when she called out a greeting, nor did Willow look for her in the living room. It was only on bad days that Willow broke their routine, so she was immediately worried.

This worry was only cemented when she saw her boyfriend on the floor, looking absolutely worn out. Blake crouched beside her. “Willow, love, hey.”

Willow opened her eyes and stared somewhere over Blake’s shoulder, but didn’t respond otherwise.

“Was it a bad day?”

Willow nodded once.

Blake kept her voice at a lower volume, and steady. “Okay. Can I hug you?”

Willow was confused at that, struggling to process what she wanted to answer. Her inability to think frustrated her, and she clenched and unclenched her fists several times.

Blake picked up on the growing agitation, and she knew if Willow got more stressed then she’d be prone to having a meltdown. They were always so awful for Willow, leaving her bedridden and with a migraine for a couple days after. Blake needed to prevent that from happening.

“I mean, do you want pressure?” Deep pressure therapy was something they’d talked about before, when Willow was explaining to Blake what was helpful to her if she ever got overwhelmed.

Willow nodded again.

That was all Blake needed to take Willow’s hands in hers, with a firm grip, and help her up. Without letting go, Blake led Willow through the flat and into their bedroom where she pushed Willow to sit down on their bed.

Once seated, Blake unbuttoned Willow’s jacket and set it on a chair in the corner of the room. Next, she took off Willow’s shoes and socks and let them fall to the floor. Willow was still in her nicer work clothes, and Blake thought it might be contributing to Willow’s overstimulation, so she also got Willow changed out of those and into an oversized, soft cotton T-shirt and didn’t bother with pants.

Willow was pliant, trusting Blake with this vulnerability and space to just exist without needing to make decisions or think. 

Once changed, Blake pulled the covers back on their bed and pulled Willow into laying down. She was already in sweats herself, so she knew the softness of the material wouldn’t bother Willow as she laid down next to her. She moved herself to settle halfway on top of Willow and wrapped a leg and arm around her, holding tight.

“Is this enough?” she asked.

Willow nodded.

“Good.” Blake kept the pressure firm and consistent with ease, rubbing her cheek where it was pressed over Willow’s chest. She could hear her heart beating and was fond of the sound. It was Willow being here in her arms, it was strong, and it was home.

Blake’s thoughts wandered around, and she didn’t know how much time had passed before she started dozing off. She woke up some time later when the room was dim from the setting sun and Willow was running her fingers through her hair.

Blake hummed and leaned her head into the feeling. It was nice. She always loved when Willow did this.

“Blake.”   
  
“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Blake sat up to meet Willow’s gaze. She looked more alert now, present in the moment and less stressed. She smiled, “Always. Feeling better, then?”

Willow smiled back gently. “Yes, and starving. You made bread earlier?”

Blake chuckled and rolled off to the side, stretching her back and arms. “I’ll bring some in here, and then you can tell me what happened at work.”   
  
Willow made a face at the mention of work and Blake laughed again, giving one of Willow’s hands a squeeze before getting up to head to the kitchen. During these moments, Willow was usually too overstimulated to welcome anyone’s, even Blake’s, touch on her face. So she settled for these other touches, content with still being able to bring Willow comfort in some way.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this!
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! And you can yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/LCpl_blakefield) if you wanna!


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